


i could not name the things i was afraid of

by couldaughter



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Adulthood, Alex Manes Deserves Nice Things, Bullying, Character Study, Families of Choice, Future Fic, Growing Up, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Post-Season/Series 01, Pre-Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-28 05:49:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20059048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/couldaughter/pseuds/couldaughter
Summary: “I don’t think any apology is gonna fix that,” said Kyle. He looked down, mouth tight. “I think a lot about when we were kids, y’know? When we were in elementary school and we thought we could be anything we wanted. You were gonna be –”“ – an Olympic figure skater, I remember,” interrupted Alex. “And you were gonna be, what was it –”“A paleontologist. Not that I could pronounce it until after I grew up enough to have other ambitions."





	i could not name the things i was afraid of

**Author's Note:**

> look... i just have a lot of feelings

**2001**

The first time Alex thought about family, his mom was out driving. She didn’t give him a hug before she left; dad said he was too old for that kind of sissy bullshit.

Alex sat on the porch every day for a week, letting himself pretend it was the dust making his eyes sting, and waited for her. He couldn’t remember when she said she was getting back, but he knew she was going to.

The Manes House was on the outskirts of Roswell; any yelling got swallowed up by the land surrounding it, arid and spotted with dying trees. There was a water hole in the backyard that had been dry since dad was a kid, a tyre swing that hadn’t been used since Harlan started high school.

That was a weird thought for Alex. He couldn’t imagine dad ever having been a kid; he must’ve been born old and mean, because no one who’d ever been a kid in Roswell could’ve turned out that way. Everyone Alex knew was really cool.

It took the whole week for Flint to get sick of Alex sitting on the porch.

“Move, squirt,” he said, aiming a kick square in the middle of Alex’s back. “Mom’s long gone. No point being a pussy about it.”

Alex squared his shoulders against the pain and stayed sat down. His eyes were stinging again; he could see a dust cloud coming in, far out on the horizon.

“She couldn’t handle having such a fucking embarrassment for a son,” continued Flint, threading the fingers of one hand through Alex’s hair. 

Hating himself, Alex closed his eyes. Flint’s fingers were cold, a remnant from the beers he’d been sneaking from the fridge. It was dusk; fading sunlight imprinted the backs of his eyelids.

Flint closed his fist and pulled until Alex felt like he was gonna get scalped, just like in the cowboy stories dad read and mom hated. 

He said something - stop, maybe, or please - and Flint laughed, and kicked him in the ribs, and kept kicking until Alex fell off the porch step and ate dirt, sprawled out face first on the sun-scorched earth.

Mom wasn’t coming back.

“Oh,” said Alex. It turned out heartbreak didn’t make any sound, no matter how much it hurt.

And it also turned out that family was something that could change; wasn’t always going to be Sunday dinner around a cedar table, waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the shouting to start. Wasn’t always going to have his mom in it, with her kind brown eyes and her lap that was just the right size to crawl into.

He had to go to school the next day; Liz ran up to him the second he cleared the gates.

“Alex!” 

She always hugged him at the start of the week; it was kind of a ritual. She pulled back when he flinched, wide brown eyes full of concern. Alex hadn’t had his growth spurt yet, so they were practically the same height. 

“Hey, you okay?” She asked, glancing down at his side. 

Alex shrugged. The motion pulled at his side, but this time he managed to hide the wince. “Yeah, it’s nothing. Flint pushed me over this weekend.”

It was better if she didn’t know the details. It’d just make her even more upset; he didn’t have the right to get her involved in his problems.

Liz scowled and crossed her arms, blew a strand of hair out of her face. She was wearing a big t-shirt with a sunflower in the middle and cargo shorts. The effect was surprisingly intimidating. “He’s such a bully, I don’t get how you’re even related.”

Alex knew shrugging again would just annoy Liz, but that didn’t stop his shoulders from twitching. He sighed, ran a hand through his hair. “Dumb luck, I guess.”

“Really dumb,” Liz agreed, nodding seriously. She moved to stand by his side and slung an arm around his shoulders. “C’mon, the bell’s gonna ring soon.”

She didn’t let go until they got inside; Kyle grinned at Alex from across the classroom.

It was going to be a good day.

**2006**

“So,” said Mimi, turning just far enough in the driver’s seat to look at the teens occupying her backseat. “What’s the plan for today? I gotta warn you guys, I don’t have the cash for bail.”

Maria and Liz rolled their eyes. Alex dug his thumbnail into his index finger and tried not to breathe too loudly.

“We’re going shopping, mom, I already told you,” said Maria. “Alex has to embrace his newfound gay identity through the medium of plaid jeans and eyeliner.” She swept a hand towards him, his plain khakis and flannel a clear affront to nature. “It’s a _rite_ of _passage, _mom.”

Alex felt himself unwind a little. Maria DeLuca was the best thing to crash into Roswell since ‘47. Her mom couldn’t be _that _bad.

He couldn’t lie and say he didn’t know why spending time with his friend’s parents made him so nervous, but that didn’t make the anxiety any less nauseating. If anything it made it worse.

It was a three hour drive from Roswell to Albuquerque. Luckily, Liz had brought her entire CD binder and Maria had a backpack full of chips and off-brand twizzlers. Alex was on drinks duty.

He handed out bottles of water with a tinge of embarrassment. “Sorry,” he said quietly. “Had to save my allowance for later.”

Not that he had an allowance to begin with, of course. Dad didn’t believe in handouts, he said, and Alex knew better than to talk back.

Avoiding his dad was his number one priority these days. If it meant picking up an extra shift cleaning up the UFO Emporium after hours, then so be it. Grant Green paid him in cash. It almost made up for literally none of the shit he came out with on the radio.

Liz cracked open a bottle and grinned at him. “Boy, this car is gonna get sweaty,” she said, taking a long sip with visible satisfaction. “Water is the sensible choice.”

“Sing it, sister,” drawled Maria. She toasted them both with her own bottle and chugged half of it in one go. “What you got for our road trip soundtrack? You know Manes is gonna cry if he goes more than an hour without Gerard Way screaming at him.”

“Shut up, DeLuca,” said Alex, smile starting to spread. “You’re just jealous of our bond.”

Liz reach over the gear shift and slid in a CD. A familiar chord sounded.

“Oh my god, I love you,” said Alex, and for a moment he didn’t realise the mistake he’d made. When it hit, he felt himself curl up slightly, shoulders caving in. “Uh, I mean –”

“Shut up,” said Liz. Her eyes were shining. “Love you too, dork.”

The opening bars of _Welcome to the Black Parade_ kept playing while Liz wrapped herself bodily around Alex, head tucked under his chin and arms around his shoulders. She avoided the spots she knew were bruised, the way she had since they were thirteen and Alex almost threw up after she accidentally hit a bruised rib. Alex, overwhelmed, took a second to hug her back. It wasn’t something that came naturally.

He looked at Maria, hoping his utter panic came across. She snorted, and reached one hand across Liz’s lap, let it rest on his knee.

“Don’t, Manes. Your shitbag dad can try to convince you otherwise, but we’re your friends. Believe it or not, we care about you. Even if your taste in music constantly makes me question all my life choices.”

“Shut up,” said Alex, a choked feeling in his throat. Mimi huffed.

“Kids, if you don’t let me jam out on this trip I _will_ turn the car around.” The volume turned up a couple notches. Gerard Way was wailing about decimated dreams.

“Oooh, I haven’t heard that one in a while,” said Liz. She pulled back from Alex, kept one hand on his shoulder. “Look, I’m not good at sappy stuff, you know that. But Maria’s right. Don’t let that macho BS into your bloodstream.”

“I’m doing my best,” said Alex. “My list for this trip is like… the complete opposite of macho.” He was really looking forward to going to Hot Topic. Even if it was only half as cool as he imagined it, he knew from the web that it had make-up for days. 

Liz had promised to help him put on eyeliner, sometime. He wasn’t sure how long it would take for him to work up to it, but he was sure it would happen. Someday.

“Sure is,” said Maria. She grinned across at him, soft around the edges. “Happy birthday, by the way. Don’t think we made a big enough deal out of that yet.”

Liz’s eyes gleamed. Alex felt light, for once, looked out the window and smiled at the horizon. The sun was starting to rise, a halo of light and a band of soft pink sky announcing the morning. New Mexico was really good at making Alex forget it was beautiful.

Dad hadn’t been awake when he left that morning. Alex doubted he’d get anything from him, anyway. He hadn’t got a birthday gift from dad since the year he hit puberty.

“Yeah, Alex,” said Liz. She took a deep breath. “You know I’m about to sing to you, right?”

“I’ll get the earplugs,” said Maria. “It’ll make me sound way better when I do the harmonies.”

Alex felt his eyes start to sting. “Shit,” he said. He scrubbed at his eyes with one wrist. “You two know how I just love attention.”

“Well, yeah, dingus,” said Maria. “Why d’you think we’re doing this in the car? No one around to embarrass but ourselves.”

“And we do it so well,” added Liz. “Face it, Manes. You’re stuck with us.”

“Damn,” said Alex. “Guess I am.” 

Maria was a much better singer than Liz.

“How is she making you _worse_,” asked Alex, breathless from laughing, halfway through _For he’s a jolly good fellow._ “That’s not – that’s not the _tune_ –”

It was honestly impossible not to join in. He lost the thread after a few bars, though. Maria was improvising a harmony and Liz had started air drumming at completely the wrong tempo.

It was alright, though. The important thing was the feeling, driving through the desert with his two best friends, windows down, singing out-of-tune at the top of their lungs. He was fifteen and, just for a minute, he felt it.

**2008**

“I’ll, uh, see you later.” Michael waved at Alex through the ticket booth glass, then looked pained. Alex figured he was usually at least a little smoother than that.

It was nice. He liked that Michael seemed to like him enough to be a dork about it. 

“Yeah, totally. I’m off at six?”

“Six, right,” said Michael. He gave what Alex was halfway sure was the Boy Scouts salute and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Lookin’ forward to it.”

Alex ducked his head, tried to hide his blush. He still had two hours left of his shift before he could get to the tool shed and – he literally couldn’t even think about it on shift. He felt like he was about to explode.

He watched as Michael made his way down the street. He couldn’t see his face from the booth, but he kind of had a feeling Michael was smiling too.

While at work Alex kept his phone, a shitty hand-me-down Siemens from Harlan, in the top desk drawer, underneath a bundle of flyers for the Crashdown and a four-foot long paperclip chain he’d been working on.

He slipped it into his lap and waited for it to turn on. The numbers and letters on the keypad were faded from long use; luckily he had them memorised.

> _Alex_ [16:05]: MARIA
> 
> _Alex_ [16:07]: BOY PROBLEM

Liz hadn’t been his first choice of friend to go to for boy problems in a while, mostly because Alex didn’t want to risk her mentioning anything offhand to Kyle that ended up as ammunition in his apparently never-ending war against Alex’s happiness.

Even now that Liz had seen Kyle’s true colours, he was finding it hard to break the habit. 

His phone buzzed with an incoming text. The screen brightened just enough for him to make out the message.

> _Maria_ [16:10]: O M G 
> 
> _Maria_ [16:12]: Cant u msn me u kno i h8 txting
> 
> _Alex_ [16:13]: AFK
> 
> _Alex_ [16:15]: Maria this is so major
> 
> _Maria_ [16:17]: Sliding scale ?

Alex grinned. They’d come up with a scale for boy problems a while after their shopping trip to Albuquerque; Maria wouldn’t get out of bed for anything less than a Warped tour setlist.

> Alex [16:20: PATD tix major
> 
> Maria [16:22]: OMG !!
> 
> Maria [16:24]: Call me i got minutes 2 spare

No one ever came to the ticket booth on a school night; Alex turned the sign to I’ve Been Abducted for the second time that afternoon and ducked into the staff bathroom to make the call.

Maria picked up on the second ring.

“Details, Alex, or I pull the trigger on those baby pictures Arturo gave me for graduation.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “I know you would never sacrifice Liz like that.”

“Try me, bitch,” said Maria, cheerfully. “Anyway, spill. I demand satisfaction after you interrupted a very important eating-my-feelings session. My Walkman is primed. My finger is hovering over the play button.”

“Alligator or Boxer?”

“Boxer, obviously,” said Maria. The sound of her eating something crunchy echoed down the line. A foil packet rustled.

“Jesus,” said Alex. He took a deep breath. “I kissed a guy.”

The line dissolved into static as Maria shrieked in delight. “Oh, my god! Oh my god, I’m so happy for you!” She coughed, another burst of static. Then, slyly: “Was it everything you dreamed?”

Alex really didn’t know how, but he swore he could _hear_ her raising her eyebrows. He felt himself blush again, a deeper red. “Uh, yeah. I never really thought about what making out with a guy at my place of work would be like, but it turns out? Kind of… better.”

“_Alexander Manes_,” said Maria. “First, you really gotta tell me your middle name someday, it’ll be great for these kinda phone calls. Second, _please_ tell me you’re seeing this guy again.”

“You’re living vicariously, huh?” Alex grinned down the phone. He only had a minute or two left before someone would actually notice he was gone from the booth. He was only going to be working at the Emporium a few more weeks before he got the hell out of dodge, but he kind of wanted to part on good terms. If nothing else, it’d be a good reference for whatever shitty retail job he found in Santa Fe.

“You bet your ass I am,” said Maria. “Liz is moping about the breakup, mom is actively denying my dad ever existed, it’s not like I’m getting the goods from anyone else anytime soon.”

“Right,” said Alex. “I knew you were only keeping me around for the gay drama.” He paused, tapping his fingernails against the desk. “And yeah, I’m seeing him again. I, uh, I can’t tell you who it is. But he’s nice. I think it’ll be good.”

“I get it,” said Maria. “Outing museum guy would definitely be a dick move.”

“Is that what we’re calling him, then?” Alex asked. Maria liked naming things.

“Oh, absolutely,” said Maria. “What else are we gonna call him? Boy Crush #32?”

Alex honest-to-god giggled. “Shut _up_.” It was bad enough acknowledging the way Guerin made him feel without having Maria try to quantify it for him.

“Make me, Manes,” laughed Maria. She hung up, the dial tone sharp in Alex’s ear.

He slid his phone into the pocket of his vest and checked his watch.

Less than ninety minutes to go.

**2018**

Alex got the call about his transfer to Roswell a week after he deleted his fourth reunion invitation. Somehow someone on the organising committee had got hold of his personal e-mail address, despite a full decade spent avoiding almost all connection with his hometown, and they were pretty goddamn persistent about it.

Maria had stopped texting him around his second deployment. She’d sent a card to the hospital, though. It was a lot more than he deserved, considering how many times he’d stalled outside the door to the Wild Pony on leave, imagined having to face exactly how much he’d changed.

Liz had dropped off the face of the earth then resurfaced after college to publish a couple of genuinely incomprehensible articles in scientific journals Alex had never heard of. He’d sent _her_ flowers, anonymously, and tried to ignore the nagging thought that she really was better off without Roswell. Without him.

Friendship fucking sucked.

So he went back to Roswell, downloaded a calendar app that would tell him exactly how many days were left in his enlistment period, and tried to keep on top of the hundreds of thousands of things that set off his shiny new PTSD diagnosis. Of course, some of those things were significantly less shiny and new; he’d just never been honest in a psych eval before.

And then, somehow, he found himself at the Wild Pony, letting Maria and Liz pull him back into their circle with both hands, and he remembered what it was like to care about things.

That was a real fucking trip.

Kyle was more complicated. They _had_ been friends, once, had the kind of friendship kids could develop based on almost nothing. As far as Alex could remember, Kyle had come up to him on their first day of kindergarten and spent ten minutes explaining why the stegosaurus was the coolest dinosaur ever.

They were best friends for almost ten years after that, before they both hit high school and, for Alex, high school hit back.

So seeing him again, all clean cut and concerned and still just as handsome as he had been when he spent four years calling Alex almost anything except his name was kind of terrifying for a split second before it just pissed Alex off.

What gave Kyle the right to be kind, after all of that?

But then the alien conspiracy unveiled itself, and suddenly there were more pressing things to worry about than what the fuck was going on with Kyle Valenti.

At least until Kyle called him in a panic, the day after Caulfield, and told him Jesse Manes was in a coma. 

“Where are you?” Alex asked, on one foot, searching for his keys and his other leg. It was late evening, just after his PT exercises, and he hadn’t planned to re-attach it until mid-morning at least. His residual limb _really _hadn’t enjoyed running away from a soon-to-be explosion; a day of use afterwards waiting for Michael hadn’t improved its condition. It was chafed and red, and Alex didn’t want an infection on top of everything else.

“The bunker,” said Kyle, faintly. His voice echoed.

Alex breathed deep. “I fucking hate that I have to ask this, but – which bunker?”

Kyle laughed, a note of hysteria carrying perfectly over the phone line. “Project Shepherd. Come quick and, uh, could you bring a fresh shirt?”

Jim Valenti’s cabin had been, and continued to be, a real godsend for Alex, but god if it wasn’t inconvenient sometimes being in the middle of fucking nowhere. No one would deliver groceries that far outside of town, and the power was intermittent at best.

It was usually a forty five minute drive from there to the abandoned silo Jesse Manes had co-opted. Alex made it in just over thirty and tried not to think about what his relationship with the DMV might end up like if any of the traffic cameras he’d passed had been functional.

The scanner that usually opened the door was smashed, the glass fractured. Alex frowned at it, gripped his crutch tighter, and shouldered his way through. It was still heavy as fuck, even unlocked.

“Valenti?” 

“Oh, thank fuck,” said Kyle. He was crouched down, hand on Jesse Manes’s neck, halfway out of his shirt and shaking to pieces. “Look, I gotta get him stable and then we can – then we can –”

“Jesus, Kyle,” said Alex. He couldn’t kneel down easily without jarring his leg, so he settled for a kind of half crouch, rested his free hand on Kyle’s back. “Take a deep breath. Easy.”

Kyle obeyed, possibly out of a lack of other options. Then he opened his mouth, because he lived to make Alex suffer.

“Sorry for calling,” he said, like an idiot. “I, uh, you’re the only one who knows where this even is.”

“We have really gotta read some more people into it, for sure,” replied Alex. He rubbed a slow circle on Kyle’s back, felt a flicker of memory from when he was small and mom had still liked him. “It’d be great for partying. The noise ordinances can’t reach this far out.”

Alex hadn’t been to any parties in high school; he had a feeling he wouldn’t like them now either. But that wasn’t the point.

The point was that Kyle looked a little more settled, and less like he was about to collapse. He turned to face Alex properly, shrugged off his hand, and shook his head.

“Damn,” he said. “Thanks.” His free hand was still tracking Jesse’s pulse, although it wouldn’t surprise Alex to find out his father had never had one. That he really was the storybook monster Alex had grown up with.

“You’re welcome,” said Alex. He raised his eyebrows. “You gonna explain what happened with my piece of shit father, or…?”

“Oh, right,” said Kyle. He pulled his hand away from the other man’s neck, pressed his fingertips together. “Uh, your dad shot me? And then I stabbed him with a needle, and put him in a coma? And I really do not know how to admit him at Roswell General without revealing the fact that I am the reason he’s currently rocking an optimistic six on the Glasgow Coma Scale.”

“Okay,” said Alex. He pressed the knuckles of his free hand to his forehead and shut his eyes for a moment. “How visible is the wound from the syringe?”

Kyle blinked at him. “Uh, not too bad? I did it through his shirt, so it might have some fabric contamination, but the needle wasn’t that wide of a gauge.”

“Right,” said Alex. “You feeling okay? I mean, physically. I know we’re all gonna need therapy after this.”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” said Kyle. He squared his shoulders, winced, and blushed. “Uh, besides the bruising.”

“Good,” said Alex. He handed Kyle the shirt he’d grabbed from a pile of to-be-folded laundry. “We’re gonna get dad outside, we’re gonna leave him by the roadside, and then we find a payphone and call an ambulance.” 

Kyle took a second to process that (already sliding the shirt on over his _bulletproof vest_, Jesus Christ) before his eyes widened. “You realise that leaves him at risk for exposure, right?”

“I don’t care,” said Alex. He didn’t like the way his voice sounded. “If he dies, he dies.” 

_Since when do you care about my dad’s wellbeing,_ Alex thought, and didn’t say. He knew it wasn’t fair, anyway. 

Kyle looked at him, sidelong. “You know I still hate him, right?” he asked. Maybe Isobel’s powers were catching.

“Sure you do,” said Alex. “And I know you apologised to me, too, but that doesn’t change the fact you spent four years of our lives spouting almost exactly the same bullshit. It’s gonna take a while to sink in.”

This probably wasn’t the time, with his father comatose on the ground between them and an entire extralegal military operation to bring down around them, but Alex had never been that good at picking his moment.

“I don’t think any apology is gonna fix that,” said Kyle. He looked down, mouth tight. “I think a lot about when we were kids, y’know? When we were in elementary school and we thought we could be anything we wanted. You were gonna be –”

“ – an Olympic figure skater, I remember,” interrupted Alex. “And you were gonna be, what was it –”

“A paleontologist. Not that I could pronounce it until after I grew up enough to have other ambitions.” Kyle grinned. “I miss when we knew each other like that. These days I consider myself fortunate that you didn’t just clock me in the face when I showed up at the cabin. You were always a lot kinder than me.”

Alex didn’t know about that. Once, in fourth grade, Kyle had told Flint that if he didn’t leave Alex alone at recess he was going to break his nose. The summer vacation after sixth grade, he told Alex it hadn’t been any trouble getting his mom and dad to let Alex come over every day to play video games and eat half the food in the fridge.

“We could try again,” he said, at length. “After we’ve covered up your role in potentially permanently incapacitating a member of the US military, I mean. That’s probably more important than oversharing over shots at the Wild Pony.”

So they dragged his dad to the roadside, and left him to the elements. It was getting light; someone would drive past pretty soon.

“I’ll drive,” said Kyle, once they’d got a safe distance away.

Alex frowned. “I can do it,” he said. “It’s my car.”

“Alex,” said Kyle. He didn’t look at Alex’s leg, or the crutch. “I’m not doubting your ability to do it. I’m saying you don’t _have _to, if it’s gonna hurt you.”

With a sigh, Alex dug the keys out of his pocket. He looked at them for a minute, thought about what his leg might feel like after the drive. Thought about Kyle, who he’d known for twenty years, who knew things about Alex he’d never told anyone else. He’d never _had_ to tell anyone else, because Kyle was there when he needed him.

He threw the whole fob at Kyle, who only fumbled them once.

“Don’t forget your blinkers,” he said, and opened the passenger side door. “I don’t want to be a statistic.”

**2019**

Michael and Isobel, in their infinite alien wisdom and power, resurrected Max two months to the day after he brought back Rosa. 

It took Liz two weeks after that to persuade Alex into going to the Wild Pony again, once she set herself on the idea.

“Come onnn,” she wheedled, hugging his arm. “You can’t mope forever, man. I need to get drunk and I need both my besties there for me.”

As far as Alex knew, Liz had told Max she needed some time and really meant it, but that didn’t stop her from dragging him to a bar the second he finally agreed.

It helped that his enlistment period was finally coming to an end. It was the end of an era, and good fucking riddance to it.

The bar was dimly lit and fairly busy when they arrived, halfway through an open mic night that Alex could only envision getting worse as time went on and more drinks were sold. His hands itched for his guitar, the one his father had smashed against the wall of Alex’s bedroom the same night he took a hammer to Michael’s hand.

“Hey, stranger,” came a familiar voice from behind the bar. Alex turned, glad to be looking anywhere but at the absolute trainwreck of a man playing Wonderwall on stage, and nodded at Maria.

“Hi,” said Alex. He slid onto a stool next to Liz, who nudged him with her elbow. “I think Liz is telling me I’m buying.”

“Sounds about right,” said Maria. She smiled, a shadow of her usual grin. “What can I get you?”

He and Maria were speaking to each other, technically, but it still felt weird and stilted. It didn’t help that Maria had asked _him_ about Michael’s hand, before he even knew Max had healed it during a pre-death power trip. Because he hadn’t seen Michael since he’d waited all day for Michael to see him at the airstream, and he’d never showed.

It was a whole thing.

Alex looked at Liz, who raised an eyebrow at him. Right. 

“I can tell from her piercing gaze that Liz doesn’t want anything,” he said. “But I guess I’ll order her a La Cumbre to stare down instead of me.”

“And you?” Maria asked, as she popped the cap off on the built in bottle opener and slid the bottle across to Liz.

“Just a water, thanks,” said Alex. “Have to pace myself if I’m gonna stay shitfaced as long as Miss Iron Liver 2019 is planning on.”

Liz flicked him on the arm, and took a long pull straight from the bottle. “My boyfriend already healed my liver once,” she said cheerfully. “It’s like I’m a whole new woman.”

“Oh, your _boyfriend_ did that, huh?” said Alex. He smirked. “Wow, didn’t know you had one of those knocking around.”

“Shut your damn mouth, Manes,” said Maria. She rolled her eyes. “We should all be so lucky.”

Alex stopped, turned to look at her. She looked back at him, and very deliberately crossed her eyes.

Liz looked between them, comprehension dawning in her eyes. “Right,” she said, firm. “I’m gonna go tell this loser that Oasis is for chumps. If he starts a fight I’m blaming you two.”

Alex watched her go, her beer held loosely in one hand, hips swaying as she walked. She seemed serious about the fight, but it was difficult to tell, with Liz.

Maria set her elbows on the bar and rested her chin on her closed fists. “Alex –”

“No, Maria,” he said. He let his leg thunk against the bar as he breathed in. “I need to apologise, first. I’ve been a shitty friend these past few weeks. Longer. I know how overwhelming the alien circus is, I shouldn’t have let my issues get in the way of that.”

“Noted,” said Maria. She smiled again, no less warm but somewhat brighter. She took a deep breath, and crossed her arms. “I broke up with Guerin.”

There was a pause. Liz was still heckling the white guy on stage.

“I – gathered,” said Alex, despite the buzzing in his ears. “Um, when?”

“Last week,” said Maria. Her fingernails dug into her arm. Alex reached out without thinking, then flinched back. “The whole thing where he lied to me about almost everything we talked about was really getting me down.”

“Shit, Maria,” said Alex. He took a sip of water, tried to think. “If it makes you feel better, he didn’t tell me anything until after I illegally accessed classified government files. _And _called my mom.”

Maria knew how often he spoke to his mom.

“Yeah, no offense, but that’s not much comfort,” she replied. “Appreciate it, though. And I get why he did it, I can’t imagine living with the threat of _vivisection _over your head, but – a relationship needs a little more trust than that. And of course it really doesn’t help that he’s still in love with you.” 

Alex stiffened in his seat. “He’s not,” he said, without inflection. “Or at least he, uh, doesn’t think it’s worth pursuing.”

“Sure,” said Maria. She leaned forward, and reached out a hand, palm up on the bar. “This isn’t an invitation to a reading, for the record. Just asking for some good old fashioned best friend level comfort. Imagine it’s tenth grade and Jayden Garrett just broke up with me again.”

“Red alert,” said Alex. He took her hand, calloused skin and slim fingers still familiar despite the years. “Boys ain’t shit, huh?”

Maria snorted. “Oh, they sure ain’t. Even when they’re great in the sack, and they got those big sad eyes that make you wanna kiss away all their problems.” She squeezed his hand. “If it weren’t for this damn bar I would absolutely be snuggling the shit out of you right now. There would be no escape.”

“I’m shaking in my boots,” said Alex. Maria gave good hugs, firm and warm without being suffocating. He squeezed back. “Look, I have to get to base early tomorrow. Turns out leaving the military needs a shitton of paperwork. But I’ve got a lot to make up for, so – text me, and I’ll buy you lunch? Only if you want.”

“You owe me so many lunches,” said Maria. She grinned. “And I’ve got so much dirt to dish on Guerin, you have _no _idea.”

Alex grinned back, almost against his will. “Thanks, Maria.”

“Any time, Alex.”

He left a little while later, once Liz had given up on heckling and returned to take over as Maria’s emotional support. 

“See you tomorrow, tiger,” said Maria. She waved, a flicker of her fingers, and winked.

Alex shook his head, and left. 

It was a long drive back to the cabin, interrupted by a coyote in the road and a fallen tree from the latest electrical storm. By the time he pulled up Alex was about ready to faceplant the bed.

He checked his phone before unbuckling his seatbelt.

> _Maria _[22:38]: 🙊 i may have read your palm ✋ just a little 🔮
> 
> _Maria _[22:40]: theres a tall handsome man 🤠 in your near future, and hes wearing that stupid fucking belt buckle 🤷🏿

The porch light was on.

Alex felt his heart start to pound. A familiar shadow detached from the cabin door and stood, hands in pockets, as he got out of the car. The stupid fucking belt buckle gleamed.

“Hey,” said Michael. He sounded rougher than usual, his voice hoarse. “Uh, wasn’t sure you’d appreciate me breakin’ in.”

“You guessed right,” said Alex. He swallowed. “I talked to Maria.”

“Oh,” said Michael. He had the grace to look embarrassed. “She’s doing okay, right? She asked for a little space, so I’m… giving it to her. I think.”

“She’s good,” said Alex. He stepped closer, the way he always did, like Michael was Jupiter and he was a comet coming into land. “But somehow, I don’t think you’re here to talk about her.”

“No,” said Michael, a laugh caught in his throat. He licked his lips. “No, I’m not.”

They stood, silent. Michael reached out with his hand, the one that used to be ruined, rested it against Alex’s cheek.

“Alex,” he said, quietly. “I think we’ve been misunderstanding each other.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that,” said Alex, equally quiet. “To be clear – I don’t just wanna be friends, Guerin.”

“Good,” said Michael. “Me either.” He brought up his other hand, cupped Alex’s face between them, and leaned in until he could press their foreheads together, a grounding pressure.

Alex held his breath. It was getting cold at night, now, cold enough that he didn’t know if the shiver he felt building was all Michael or not. 

Michael slid one hand until it settled around the nape of Alex’s neck, comforting and warm. His hands had always felt safe for Alex; one thing he’d kept his trust in. The air between them grew heavy with anticipation.

“We could go inside, first,” he pointed out. His left hand had come to sit on Michael’s waist, unbidden, and curled into the worn fabric of his flannel shirt. “It’s warm, and enclosed, and it has chairs.”

“Ah shit,” said Michael, hearing something unspoken. “Your leg.”

Alex winced. “Yeah,” he said. He dug in his pocket and handed the keys into Michael’s outstretched hand. “Let yourself in.”

He turned back to the car, grabbed his wallet, and shut his eyes for a long moment. Michael was here. Michael was here, and making awkward attempts at jokes, and letting himself in to Alex’s home. If this was a dream, Alex didn’t want to wake up.

The door was ajar when he got back, the light inside switched on and humming quietly. Michael was sat on the couch juggling spare firewood with his mind, letting the logs dance lazily in the air while he waited. He looked at home there, sprawled on Alex’s shitty Goodwill couch, arms crossed behind his head. His stupid cowboy hat was hung on a hook by the door where Alex used to keep his spare key, before he gave it to Rosa.

“Hey,” said Alex. He kicked the door shut behind him and limped to the sink, reached down to roll up his pant leg. He glanced sideways, caught Michael looking at him with so much fondness it almost burned.

It was almost second nature now, removing the leg. He’d finally remembered to order a couple of thicker socks so he didn’t have to double up, and the leg itself was well made, not prone to locking up or squeaking. Detaching the thing, wiping it down and rinsing the sock was the work of a couple minutes, while Michael stayed on the couch and kept juggling. He took an extra minute to rub in the medicated cream he’d finally managed to pick up from the pharmacy, let himself sigh at the feeling.

His spare crutch tapped loudly against the floorboards as Alex made his way back over.

“We can stay on the couch,” he offered, matter-of-fact to hide his nerves. “Or we can go straight to bed. It’s pretty late.”

Michael looked at him, and behind him the logs restacked themselves. He stood, arms at his sides. “Whatever’s easiest for you, Alex.”

“I want you to stay,” said Alex. He shut his eyes as he did, felt the honesty tear itself out of him. 

“Bed,” said Michael, decisively. He took Alex’s hand, pressed a gentle kiss to his knuckles. He batted his eyelashes. “Don’t go getting any ideas though, Manes. I’m a good girl.”

“Whatever you say,” said Alex. 

He led the way through the tiny living room to the bedroom, where the queen size bed loomed. He’d picked out boring sheets for it in a misguided attempt at normalcy, back when he’d expected to leave Roswell when his enlistment period was up.

He couldn’t imagine leaving now.

“Looks comfy,” said Michael. He turned to face Alex, put a hand back on his neck. Alex could really see what Maria meant about the sad boy eyes.

“It is,” said Alex. He leaned in and kissed Michael, dry and soft, close-mouthed, and pulled back just to watch the way Michael’s eyelids slid closed and his mouth tilted just slightly upwards. “Stay as long as you like.”

“Sure,” said Michael. “I’ll be here so much you’ll get sick of me.” He let go of Alex for long enough that he could sit down without falling, the mattress groaning under the weight of two people, then put his hands right back where they’d been, gentle and undemanding. 

Alex hadn’t realised how much tension he’d been holding until he felt it leave. Michael’s hands were the only thing that kept him from floating away. “Stay, Michael,” he said, quietly. “I mean it.”

Michael smiled, open and easy. “You’re stuck with me, man,” he whispered, leaning closer. “Long as you want.”

**2024**

The sound of screaming increased in volume as Liz opened the door.

“Alex!” She grinned and pulled him in for a hug, soft and warm as always. “Thank god you’re here, I think Max is about to collapse from all the piggybacks he’s been giving.”

“I don’t know if I can help you there,” said Alex, Liz’s head still tucked under his chin. “But Michael is definitely available.”

Michael, arriving from the truck with a bottle of wine in one hand, shrugged. “Those kids love me,” he said with a grin. “If they want a piggyback, who am I to deny them?”

“Try not to drop them with your brain,” said Liz. She stepped back from Alex and hugged Michael, quick and fond, before leading the way into the house. “Kids! Alex and Michael are here!”

Max peeked his head out from the living room with a relieved grin. “You guys made it! Awesome, come right in.”

The living room was ground zero for kid-related chaos, Alex gathered, littered with toys and magazines and plates of half-eaten sandwiches. He lowered himself onto a clear space on one couch and sat back to watch as Michael walked in, draped in children, making a production of the whole thing.

“Hmmm,” he said, swinging a girl in a sundress from one arm. “Kinda seems like my jacket is heavier than usual. You notice that, Alex?”

Alex struggled not to grin. “Oh, I can’t see anything.”

The girl giggled.

“No? Huh,” Michael continued. He turned around, fast enough that the little girl shrieked. “Must be imagining things.”

There was a kid on his back too, four years old, clinging to him with both arms around his neck.

Alex saluted as Michael made his way through to the kitchen, narrating the whole way.

He let himself zone out for a while, eyes closed, listening to the way the music and the kids mixed together. 

“Incoming!”

He opened his eyes, repressing the flinch.

Liz threw herself onto the couch beside him, yelped, and extracted a Fisher Price phone from under her thighs. “Shit,” she said. 

“Really, Liz? In front of all these kids?” Alex grinned, elbowed her in the ribs.

“Shut up, Alex,” she said cheerfully. “It’s not like they’re _your_ kids.”

Max and Liz had been running a youth group for a couple years now, ever since they got married. It was mostly kids from the group home Michael had been in, with a couple of older teens who were close to aging out. 

Alex had a feeling this party was going to involve some kind of announcement, considering the sheer number of kids present, but he honestly had no idea what it might be.

Alright, well. He had a pretty good guess, based on the way Liz was smiling, absently, the way she had back when she’d finally told him and Maria about her college scholarship.

That was a smile that heralded big changes.

“Whatever you say,” he replied, eventually. “How’s work?”

“Oh, same old, same old,” Liz said, stretching her arms above her head. “We’re getting close to a breakthrough, but it’s been a real two steps forward, one step back kind of week.”

Liz was working on another stem cell study, stimulating muscle re-growth in burn victims. It was easy to get her going on the subject, Alex had discovered.

She was just getting into a detailed description of fibrous tissue when Max knocked on the door jamb, looking at Liz the way he always did. 

“Oh, Max,” said Liz. Alex watched as she looked at Max, her face lighting up, eyes bright. “Is it that time already?”

“Sure is,” he said. He nodded to Alex. “Everyone’s in the kitchen. I’ll make sure you get a seat.”

Alex stood up with a little effort, felt his knee complain, and followed Max. There was, indeed, a seat available, hard-backed and at a reasonable height. He relaxed into it, nodded his thanks to Max. Michael came and leaned against the counter beside him, hand resting at the nape of Alex’s neck.

“Hey,” he murmured. “You know what this is about?”

“No,” Alex replied. He reached a hand behind Michael and tangled their fingers together. “Think I can hazard a guess, though.”

“Right,” said Liz, loud and clear. She clapped her hands together with a grin, then slid her arm around Max’s waist, head against his shoulder. “Everyone’s here, right?”

Alex glanced around the kitchen. Maria and Isobel were in the corner by the sink, Maria’s hand in Isobel’s back pocket. Rosa was sat to the side, elbow resting on the counter, eyebrows raised. All the youth group kids were gathered around the heavy oak table, the younger ones sat in the older kids’ laps, looking happy and surrounded by the remains of a much-appreciated lunch. Kyle, looking weirdly distinguished in his new glasses, was sat opposite Alex on a footstool.

“Okay,” Liz continued. “Uh, I don’t really want to get into details, but – you might have noticed me and Max have been kind of secretive, recently.”

“Oh, definitely,” said Maria. “I was just praying it wasn’t another alien invasion; you know what that did to business at the bar.”

“Yeah,” Rosa agreed. “Or maybe there was another dead girl that needed resurrecting.”

Alex coughed. Rosa rolled her eyes at him.

“Nothing like that,” said Max. “And I just want to reiterate, I really hate that those were legitimate concerns.”

Liz tutted. “_Anyway_,” she continued. She pulled Max in closer, glanced up at his face. Alex felt a wave of affection wash over him. “We’ve been kind of secretive, because, uh, we really didn’t want to jinx anything. But we got the paperwork through, and it’s official – we got approved to foster.”

It took a few second for Alex to stand up from the chair and get round the table, wrap both arms around Liz and cling. A couple of the kids were attached to her legs, babbling in excitement. “Holy shit,” he said, above the noise. “You’re gonna be the best mom ever.”

“I’ll try,” she said, eyes wide and voice grave. “Max is already looking up little league teams; you know this parenting is gonna get competitive.”

Alex could see it, suddenly, the future sprawling out ahead of them. The happiness in Liz’s face finally settling, growing roots, getting to make sure the kids were taken care of. Kids she could finally keep safe from monsters.

“I _knew_ there was a reason you made me paint the guest room,” said Michael, arm around Max’s shoulders. “_Magnolia is boring_ my ass, Evans.”

Alex caught Michael’s eye. 

“I think Maria is gonna kill me if I don’t let her get in on this,” he told Liz. “Congratulations, anyway. These last few years –”

“Made our decision for us,” said Liz, firm. “No need to get all re-traumatised at this party, right?”

“Right,” agreed Alex. He pulled back, finally, felt his eyes sting. “I’m gonna go hug my boyfriend for a minute.”

“Good plan,” said Liz. She turned, sensing Maria’s approach, and grinned as she submitted to another bear hug.

“Mother of God, Ortecho,” said Maria. “You better be ready for a mountain of hand-me-downs.”

Alex turned, tugging Michael’s elbow, and led them both out into the hallway.

“Holy shit,” said Michael. He rubbed at the back of his head, nails scratching dry skin. “You see this coming?”

“I had an inkling,” said Alex. He reached out and caught Michael’s hand, smiled down at it. “They’ll be great at it, y’know. Even when they don’t know what they’re doing, they’ll just – talk it through. Figure it out.”

“No yelling,” said Michael, wistful. “No exorcisms.”

“Definitely not,” said Alex. He squeezed Michael’s fingers, imagining the faint scars that Max hadn’t thought to leave. “No tool shed required.”

A tear spilled down Michael’s cheek. Alex could feel his own face getting hot, see his vision starting to swim.

Michael looped an arm around Alex’s shoulders. Alex let himself go boneless, leaned forward until his head was resting against Michael’s chest. He could hear Michael’s heartbeat, feel it in his bones.

“They’ll be great,” he said, into Michael’s shirt. “D’you think the kids’ll call you Uncle Michael?”

“Knowing Liz,” said Michael, choked. “It’ll be Uncle Mikey.”

The idea of Michael suffering through being called Mikey for the rest of his life was funnier than it probably should’ve been.

Alex laughed, his throat aching. “Fuck, she would.”

“Count yourself lucky,” Michael continued. “Uncle Alex sounds totally normal.”

“_Fuck_,” said Alex. He couldn’t even start imagining that. “This is one messed up family, you know that?”

“I had noticed, yeah,” said Michael. He ran a hand through Alex’s hair, already getting grayer by the day. “But it’s what we’ve got.”

**Author's Note:**

> Working title: 'believe it or not, alex manes has a family'
> 
> Many thanks to Emma myrmidryad for putting up with some extended DM yelling and also REAL LIFE yelling about this, and also the number of times I shouted about how much I love their fic from about two feet away. You the real MVP.
> 
> I have strong feelings about Liz and Max as foster parents.
> 
> Title from The Son by Mary Oliver.
> 
> Find me on twitter AND tumblr (yes, I do hate myself) @dotsayers, yelling about anything and everything under the sun.


End file.
